The Massacre of the Males 



of wrathful virgins. They wake. In 

 pious wonder; they cannot believe their 

 eyes ; and their astonishment struggles 

 through their sloth as a moonbeam 

 through marshy water. They stare 

 amazedly round them, convinced that 

 they must be victims of some mistake ; 

 and the mother-idea of their life being 

 first to assert itself in their dull brain, 

 they take a step towards the vats of 

 honey to seek comfort there. But ended 

 for them are the days of May honey, the 

 wine-flower of lime trees and fragrant am- 

 brosia of thyme and sage, of marjoram 

 and white clover. Where the path once 

 lay open to the kindly, abundant reser- 

 voirs, that so invitingly offered their 

 waxen and sugary mouths, there stands 

 now a burning-bush all alive with poi- 

 sonous, bristling stings. The atmosphere 

 of the city is changed ; in lieu of the 

 friendly perfume of honey, the acrid odour 

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